“Prepare your snow boots, snow pants and winter jackets now,” said the weather girl, as if directly addressing Miss May’s concerns. “This blizzard is coming whether you like it or not. I don’t like to make guarantees about the weather… But I guarantee it.”
“Wonderful.” Miss May grabbed the clicker to turn the TV off but I caught her arm to stop her.
“I think they’re about to talk about Coach Thornton! Turn it up.”
Miss May cranked the volume to high. On the TV, Bart Bartholomew, the local news anchor, gave a brief obituary for Coach Thornton. He mentioned Thornton’s championship, and his namesake scholarship. And he said Ron was “beloved throughout the basketball community.”
Then Bart announced that an official memorial for Thornton was going to be held the next day at Pine Grove High. I took offense. There had already been a memorial on the farm. What was unofficial about that? But Bart talked so fast I didn’t have time to lodge my complaint with Miss May. He went on to explain that several of the coach’s players had moved the memorial up several days because “They heard about the blizzard and these champs refuse to lose, even to the weather.” And he implored all of Pine Grove to attend.
I looked over to Miss May. “I presume you’re going to want to go to that memorial.”
Miss May raised one eyebrow as if to say ‘What do you think?’
I sighed. “I’ll brush up on my basketball knowledge.”
9
Shooting Hopes
The official memorial for Coach Thornton was scheduled to begin at 1 PM in the high school gymnasium. Miss May and I popped into my truck and drove over to Grandma’s to pick up Teeny around half past noon. We figured Teeny might need a little time to get out of the restaurant after we arrived, considering it was the lunch rush. Besides, Miss May had what I could only describe as a genuine passion for timeliness and punctuality. I can tell you right now that the trait is not genetic.
That particular Wednesday was unseasonably warm, despite the rumored blizzard. The sky was an uninterrupted wall of pale gray. There was a slight breeze in the air and the orange, red, and gold leaves danced on the branches of Pine Grove’s towering elm, birch, and maple trees.
As we cruised to a halt at Pine Grove’s only traffic light, I watched a woman and her baby crossing the street. Both were overdressed for the oddly warm weather. The woman wore a jean jacket and a burgundy beanie. The baby had on a puffy pink jacket that had to be twice the size of her body. Miss May caught me smiling at the baby.
“Cute, right?”
I nodded. I had a momentary flash of what life may have been like with my fiancé, Mike, had he not literally run away from me on our wedding day. Would Mike and I have had a child together? Would I be a mom by now?
“You’ll have your own family one day if that’s what you want,” said Miss May. “But boy oh boy, you’re lucky you didn’t get stuck with Mike. No offense, but that guy was a deadbeat.”
“No offense taken. How can I disagree? He didn’t even return his own tux after he left me at the altar.”
“Right. He would have been a crummy husband and an even crummier father.”
“I was just looking at the cute baby,” I said, feeling defensive. “It’s not a big deal. That kid was adorable.”
“She was adorable,” said Miss May. “And this light turned green about fifteen seconds ago.”
Teeny bustled out into the parking lot as soon as I pulled up. She walked with a short, angry steps and climbed into the car with an exaggerated sigh.
“Everything OK?” asked Miss May.
“Fine.”
Miss May looked over at me. I shrugged. Miss May turned back to Teeny. “It doesn’t sound like everything’s fine.”
“Did something go wrong at the restaurant?” I asked.
“No. Just not in the mood to be a sleuth today. I don’t see the point of going to this sports memorial. It’s just going to be a bunch of sports people standing around and talking about scores and goals and foul balls.”
“Foul balls are for a different…” I caught myself in the middle of a know-it-all moment. I was no sports expert, but I’d gone to Duke University, where the basketball team was almost as famous as the academic rigor. So I at least knew that foul balls were not part of shooting hoops. However, I also knew that Teeny was in no mood to be corrected. “Never mind.”
“Chances are one of those sports people is going to be the killer,” said Miss May. “I think our attendance is imperative.”
“Don’t you imperative me, May. Not in the mood, dude. I miss the days when we were too shy and respectful to attend memorials. What ever happened to that?”
“Did you have something better to do today?” Miss May turned and tried to catch Teeny’s eye but Teeny looked away.
“No.”
“Are you sure?” said Miss May. “I know Big Dan’s body shop is closed Wednesdays. Maybe the two of you had plans and this memorial got in the way?”
“Ugh. Sometimes it’s real annoying having an expert sleuth as a best friend.”
Miss May smirked. “So the memorial is getting in the way of a date.”
“Yes. Fine. Great job, Sherlock.”
I put my hands at ten and two. “ Are we going to this memorial or not? Teeny, I can drop you off wherever.”
“Of course we’re going to the memorial,” said Teeny. “I’m an imperative part of this team. Imperative!”
With a smile, I shifted the truck into gear and pulled out onto Main Street, headed for the high school.
“So what was the date?” Miss May asked.
“Big Dan and I were supposed to spend the afternoon emergency shopping. And I was really looking forward to it.”
“Emergency shopping for what?” asked Miss May.
“The blizzard. What else?”
“It’s almost seventy degrees today,” I said. “I don’t think those weather reports were right about the snow.”
“Big Dan has a sixth sense for weather. He’s obsessed with it. And he says there’s definitely a blizzard. And is not coming this weekend, by the way. This puppy’s coming tomorrow. Wham, bam, snow jam.”
“But it’s the middle of October,” said Miss May.
“It’s a freak weather event,” said Teeny. “That’s why we need supplies. I hope you’re prepared up at the farm. You got canned food? Salt? Dog food? Boardgames? Candles? Bottled water? Batteries? Stamps?”
“Why are we going to need stamps?” I asked. “If there’s a blizzard the mail trucks won’t be able to make it up to the farm.”
“Stop picking apart every little thing I say,” said Teeny. “I’m in a bad mood and I blame stupid, dead Coach Thornton. You know Big Dan hated Thornton? Says the guy was totally, utterly, completely horrifying. Yep. Apparently they’ve known each other for years. Big Dan couldn’t stand the guy.”
Miss May looked over at me. I felt her knowing glance but didn’t return it.
“Stop with those ridiculous looks.” Teeny crossed her arms. “Big Dan did not kill Coach Thornton. You two know him. He’s a lover, not a fighter.”
“I don’t want to hear about Big Dan being a lover,” said Miss May.
“Oh get a grip,” said Teeny. “You know what I mean. Are we there yet?”
I turned into the high school parking lot. “As a matter of fact, we are. Are you two ready to find some answers?”
Teeny gritted her teeth. “I didn’t give up my date for nothin’!”
10
Halls of Gory
The Pine Grove High School gymnasium was packed. There were former players, teachers, parents, and other townspeople crowding the court, all the way from one basketball hoop to the other. The place smelled like human sweat and the air was warm with chatter and anticipation, like an indoor concert venue before the show.
A gaggle of preteen boys leaned against a far wall, each holding a basketball. A group of teachers sat in the bleachers dressed in their business casual attire. And the
very tall heads of former high school basketball stars poked out a foot or so above everyone else in the gym.
The tallest man the gym was an Asian-American guy who looked like he was around forty years old. He had long, wavy hair and he was tall like a good-sized Christmas tree.
“OK,” said Teeny. “We’re here. Let’s find the killer quick. I still have time to meet Big Dan over at the hardware store. I think he’s picking out shovels. He says he knows a good shovel from across the room based on the handle, mostly. Although, he’s buying a new shovel because he broke the old one. Snapped the handle right in half. So it seems like he didn’t pick a great one before. I’m interested in his process though. Fascinating, right?”
“Fascinating is a strong word for shovel shopping,” said Miss May. “And I don’t know if we can rush this memorial. Events like these typically move at their own pace.”
“We can rush anything we want,” said Teeny. “Let’s just go up to people, one by one, and accuse them of having killed Coach Thornton. We’ve got enough practice, we should be able to figure out who the killer is based on a look of guilt that flashes through their eyes. I’ll watch the left eyes, you watch the right.”
“If it were only that easy,” said Miss May.
“Fine,” said Teeny. “I’ll be slow and methodical like I always am. Big Dan and I can go shovel shopping before the next freak weather event.”
I spotted a folding table with a sign-in sheet and a corresponding book of memories. An older woman sat behind the folding table. She had a pointed chin and she wore a black and red tracksuit emblazoned with the insignia of Lakeland High School, Pine Grove’s archrival.
“Let’s go sign in,” I said. “I’d like to see what’s up with that lady who’s repping Lakeland.”
The woman with the pointy chin straightened up as we approached. “Ladies. Welcome to the memorial. Glad you could join us. What we’ve got here is a sign-in sheet and a book of memories. The sign-in sheet is simple. Put your Jane Hancock down and that way Coach Thornton’s spirit will know you came. The book of memories is pretty straightforward too. Memory is a beautiful and complicated thing. But try to keep it simple in the book. There’s only so much white space.”
The woman spoke in a short, clipped manner. She held herself like a military general and she had an energetic flicker in her eye that suggested just a bit of mischief.
“Thank you for that information,” said Miss May. “We’ll keep our memories brief.”
“I think it’s for the best,” said the woman.
“Forgive me,” said Miss May. “But I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Miss May. I own the apple orchard up on Whitehill. This is my niece, Chelsea, and my friend ,Teeny. Do you work over at Lakeland?”
“That’s right. I’m the athletic director over there. I also coach the boys’ and the girls’ basketball teams. It’s a lot but I manage. Coach Thornton was a mentor to me. Little Ron, I called him. He wasn’t that little but the nickname got under his skin. He vanquished me many times on the court. In fact, each one of his three championships was won against me. Did the guy play dirty? You bet he did. His kids were throwing elbows like skeletons at a Halloween dance. And do I suspect he may have bribed the referees? Little Ron wasn’t above it. Did those losses settle deep into my bones and quite possibly change my brain chemistry and genetic makeup? That’s for science to decide. But guess what? I’m well past all that. I’m here today to honor a fallen hero.”
I pointed to a message in the memory book and read it aloud. “‘You beat me. Not fair and square. But I’m over it now.’ Is that your message?”
“Short and sweet. You better believe it, Tiffany.”
“It’s Chelsea.”
“Sounds good. I’m going to the bathroom. Have a great day, apple ladies.”
With that, the woman charged off toward the bathroom, taking steps so big and lurching they were almost small leaps.
A strong, male voice rang out from somewhere above me. “Coach Sheila is intense.”
I turned around. Looked up. And up. And up. The voice belonged to the tall Asian-American guy I had noticed in the crowd earlier.
I looked over at Teeny and Miss May. The two of them were busy quibbling about what to write in the memory book. I gulped. That meant I was all alone in a social interaction with a brand-new person. And I don’t mean to be height-ist, but the guy was huge. Especially compared to me.
You’re a grown woman, I thought. You talk to new people all the time. Don’t be weird just because this guy is a giant. And don’t use the word giant. That’s weird.
“Hi. Tall. Tall person. You’re tall.” At least I didn’t say giant.
The man’s laugh sounded like someone getting a strike at the bowling alley. “I get that a lot.”
I gestured over in the direction where Coach Sheila had disappeared. “So that woman is Coach Sheila, huh?”
“Yup. And I’m James. James McGregor. Some people call me Big James ‘cuz, well, you see why. But I prefer just James. I played center on those teams that beat Coach Sheila in the championships.”
James waited and looked at me with expectant eyes. I realized he expected me to make a noise like I was impressed. I did the best I could.
“Ahhhohhhhaaahhh cool.”
He continued. “Yeah. I didn’t score a ton of points but I held the team down on the inside block. I was a monster on the glass. I loved rebounding and defense. Most kids hated that stuff but I guess I was just tenacious or something.”
I made another noise like I was impressed. It came out more awkward and forced than the first noise I made. I cringed. The noise kind of sounded like I had to go to the bathroom. James didn’t notice.
“Coach Sheila lost her mind after those big championships. You could hear her screaming at her players from like, out in the parking lot. We would’ve beaten her four times but good old Coach Thornton cut me from the team before my senior year. He thought points were all that mattered but he was so wrong. The guys didn’t even make the playoffs that year.”
I tilted my head. Had I stumbled into one of Coach Thornton’s scorned former athletes? I continued with a gentle, interested tone. “That must’ve been hard. It sounds like you were a force of nature on those teams. And you contributed to three big wins. Then Thornton cut you out of nowhere?”
“I’m over it. Honestly, he probably saved me. Before Thornton cut me I was thinking about playing ball in college. Maybe even thought I would go pro one day. But the recruiters lost interest when Thornton axed me.”
Interesting choice of words, I thought.
Big James continued. “Big deal. I didn’t get to play in college. Didn’t even go to college. But now I’m a master plumber so it all worked out. I love my craft.”
“Oh. That sounds…great. Do you still live around here?” I needed to know if James had any idea that I was a local detective or that I might be investigating Coach Thornton’s death.
“No way. I’m down in Staten Island now. With the rest of my people. Plumbers, I mean. Not Asians or basketball players. Lots of plumbers down in Staten Island. But I’m here to pay my respects. Plus, I wanted to let Thornton know one last time how wrong he was to cut me. Just kidding, obviously.”
“OK. Cool. Well I’m gonna go find my aunt.”
“Wait,” said James. “I’m actually going to be in town for a while. The place has changed so much since I moved—”
“Has it?” I asked. Pine Grove seemed immutable to me.
“Kind of, yeah. Anyway, I was hoping… If you’re not busy… Would you be willing to show me some of the popular new spots in Pine Grove? I don’t know anyone anymore and you seem chill.”
I widened my eyes and stammered. James held out a hand to calm me. “It wouldn’t be a date or anything. I’m just hoping to get back in touch with my hometown.”
“On. I’m not sure if I’m going to be around. Can I let you know?”
James agreed, then he put his number in my phone and saunter
ed away, presumably to find someone else with whom to share his stories of basketball glory.
I turned back toward the sign-in table. Miss May and Teeny were standing there, looking at me, each grinning from ear to ear.
“You got asked on a date,” said Teeny in a sing-songy voice.
“He said it’s not a date,” I said.
Miss May chuckled. “That’s how you know it’s a date.”
“Well I don’t want to go,” I said. “I have a boyfriend. And—”
“An extra boyfriend named Wayne?” Miss May asked.
“I don’t know. Whatever. I don’t need to further complicate my love life.”
“We’re not telling you to fall in love with the guy,” said Miss May. “But you heard him. He’s a spurned former player of Coach Thornton’s. That makes James a suspect.”
“Great. So to be clear, you think the guy is a murderer. And that’s your argument for why I should date him?”
“No,” said Miss May. “But he might just be the biggest lead we have. And we can’t afford to pass that up.”
11
Oreo Blizzards
Teeny pointed out the back window up at the clouds. “Big Dan was bingo-bango spot on! It’s starting to flurry.”
She was right. My windshield was dotted with big, fluffy snowflakes. I turned on my windshield wipers to brush the snow aside. “This isn’t quite a blizzard. But it is crazy that it’s snowing. Three hours ago it was downright hot.”
“I’m telling you. Big Dan is a weather whisperer. He said something about jet streams and hot air and cold air and it all comes down to one, big, bad blizzard. Not the delicious Oreo kind. The kind that knocks out your power and messes up your roads. Coming to a theater near you, sooner than you like.”
“So should I take you home? I know you wanted to come back to the farmhouse but if there’s going to be a blizzard—”
Dropping Like Pies (Apple Orchard Cozy Mystery Book 11) Page 5
